JZmo 


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SOLDIERS'  TRACT  ASSOCIATION*,  )  No.  68, 

Richmond,  Va.  $ 


THE  CONTRAST, 


By  Rev.  L.  B.  Madison,  of  the  Western  Va.  Conference. 

(  — L ' 

•  In  the  following  pages,  I  address  myself  particularly  to  the 
soldiers  of  the  Southern  armies;  and' impelled  by  an  earnest 
desire  to  do  them  good,  I  beg  a  careful  perusal  of  them  by 
every  one  into  whose  hands  this  little'tract  may  fall.  I  know 
that  there  are  thousands  of  our^soldiers  who  are  always  glad 
to  receive  tracts,  and  will  read  and  prize  them  highly,  while  I 
regret,  to  say  that  there  are  some  who  will  accept  them  when 
offered  by  the  chaplain  or  colporteur,  but  often  throw  them 
aside  without  even  taking  a  glance  at  their  contents.  This 
ought  not  to  be  so.  You  ought,  my  friends,  to  read  them  all 
carefully,  as  you  would  a  letter  from  home.  They  are  mes- 
sages of  love  sent  to  you  by  your  friends.  They  freely  con- 
tribute of  their  means  to  send  these  little  angels  of  mercy  to 
you,  freighted  with  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation,  and  you 
ought  to  appreciate  their  kindness  and  heed  the  admonitions 
thus  given  you.  I  am  happy,  however,  to  say,  that  there  are 
comparatively  few,  so  far  as  my  observation  extends,  who  do 
not  appreciate  this  kindness  on  the  part  of  their  friends. 

Your  situation  now  is  very  different  to  what  it  was  a  short 
time  ago.  You  were  then  in  the  midst  of  kind  and  affection- 
ate friends.  A  mother's  smiles,  a  sister's  affection  or  a  wife's 
devotkvi  filled  yor.r  breast  with  the  happiest  emotions,  and 
your  life  was  comparatively  a  life  of  comfort  and  happiness; 
but  now  no  companions  but  your  comrades  in  arms  greet  you. 
Yon  are  cut  aS  frtfna  all  the  aggrvdatitos  tf  tftost  and  happitfr 
I 


2  The    Contrast. 

days,  and  are  denied  those  enjoyments  to  which  you  were  ac- 
customed before  the  war.  The  contrast  is  any  thing  but  a 
pleasant  one,  and  I  deeply  sympathize  with  you,  and  with  you 
sigh  for  a  return  of  peace,  that  we  may  all  again  enjoy  that 
delightful  society  of  home-friends  of  which  we  have  been  de- 
prived so  long. 

But  this  is  not  the  contrast  which'  I  wish  to  bring  before 
you  for  your  consideration,  striking  and  painful  as  it  may  be; 
and  involving  as  much  interest  as  it  does,  it  is  not  of  so  great- 
importance  as  other  matters  to  whrch  I  wish  to  call  your  at- 
tention. 

I  intend  to  notice  something  of  the  life  of  the  Christian, 
and  of  the  sinner.  A  most  ^striking  and  powerful  contrast 
may  be  seen  here.  Indeed,  there  are  no  two  points  of  resem- 
blance between  them  in  the  whole  course  of  life.  They  are 
diametrically  opposed  to  each  other."  Friendship  with  the 
world  or  with  sin  is  enmity  against  God;  and  once  enliste'd 
under  the  banner  of  King  Immanuel,  we  must  forever  con- 
tend against  the  powers  of  sin  and  darkness.  There  is  no 
medium  or  half  way  ground  in  the  matter — we  are  either  on 
the  one  side  or  the  other. 

The  Christian  is  the  child  of  God.  u  His  delight  is  in  the 
law  of  the  Lord,  and  in*  his  law  doth  he  meditate  day  and 
night."  He  is  devoted  wholly  to  the  service  of  God."  He 
denies  himself  all  ungodliness,  and  lives  soberly  and  right- 
eously in  this  present  world."  In  trouble  and  affliction  he 
looks  upward  to  God,  and  feels  a  calm,  holy  resignation  to  the 
will  of  God.  He  is  patient  under  trials,  and  murmurs  not  at 
any  dispensation  of  Providence 

Th.6  sinner  io  a  child  of  the  devil.  He  delights  in  sin. 
He  is  opposed  to  the  simple  plan  of  sajvation  as  taught  in  the 
gospel  of  our  Lord  Jeeus  Christ.  He  rises  up  in  the  morning 
to  gin  against  God,  and  all  tha.  day  long  "ha  roll*  ein  as  a' 


- 

The   Contrast.  U?       8 

sweet  morsel  under  bis  tongue."  He  thinks  not  of  God  but 
to  blaspheme  his  name,  nor  of  those  thiugs  which  relate  to 
his  eternal  destiny.  He  listens  to  the  voice  of  the  tempter, 
and  heeds  the  whisperings  of  his  own  evil  heart,  enticing  him 
on  in  the  way  of  sin,  nor  regards  the  admonitions  of  friends, 
nor  the  "still,  small  voice"  within  his  own  breast.  He  is  en- 
raptured, infatuated  by  the  syren  song  of  pleasure  that  is  fast 
lulling  him  into  an  awful  security  which  must  end  in  his  eter- 
nal ruin. 

He  may  be  an  outbreaking  sinner,  regarding  not  even  the 
moral  law ;  he  may  revel  in  drunkenness  and  profanity ;  he 
may  be  found  at  the  gaming  table,  risking  the  earnings  of 
months  upon  the  turning  of  a  card;  and  he  may  visit  places 
more  fiendish  and  wicked,  nearer  akin  to  hell,  if  possible,  than 
■  those  we  have  mentioned.  Sin  leads  a  man  to  many  places 
and  by  many  ways  that  would  perhaps  at  one  time  have  caused 
the  blush  of  shame  to  mantle  his  features.  But  you  say  that 
you  do  not  belong  to  this  class  of  sinners,  and  hurl  back  the 
insinuation  with  scorn  and  indignation.  You  do  respect  the 
moral  law;  you  are  not  guilty  of  the  sin  of  profanity;  you 
never  get  drunk  nor  visit  scenes  of  disorder  and  hellish  de- 
bauchery— never  even  so  much  as  play  card?  for  amusement — 
and  upon  the  whole  you  thinl£  you  are  not  so  great  a  sinner 
after  all,  and  are  inclined  to  think  that  there  is  more  ado 
made  about  religion  than  is  necessary. 

Stop,  my  friend,  if  you  please — not  so  fast.  I  did  not  say 
that  all  sinners  would  go  to  such  lengths  in  sin.  I  know  that 
there  are  many  who  lay  greal  claim  to  morality  and  make 
great  noise  about  it,  expecting  it  to  work  great  things  for 
them,  but  even  they  are  in  "the  gall  of  bitterness  and  the 
bonds  of  iniquity ;"  and  while  the  contrast  with  the  Chris- 
tian's.life  may  not  be  so  striking  and  not  so  easily  seen  by  the 
casual,  uninterested^  observer,  yet  a  very  great  contrast  cer- 

•  r-.  rt   a  c%  C\  Ck 


4  *  The   Contrast. 

taiuly  exists  and  is  easily  seen  by  unfolding  the  objects,  aims 
and  motives  by  which  each  is  respectively  impelled. 

You,  friend  moralist,  are  depending  upon  your  own  right" 
eousness,  your  deeds  of  benevolence,  your  honesty,  your 
strictly  upright  and  moral  course  of  life;  but  while  the  Chris- 
tian possesses  all  of  these  as  "well  as  you,  and  to  a  higher  de- 
gree, yet  he  does  not  depend  on  them  for  salvation.  He  looks  , 
only  to  "the  blood  of  Christ,  which  cleanseth  from  all  sin;" 
and  throwing  all  his  good  works  aside,  hides  behind  Mount 
Calvary  and  holds  up  the  cross,  "  all  stained  with  hallowed 
blood,"  and  pleads  the  merits  of  that  atonement  alone. 

Your  heart  is  yet  unsubdued.  You  are  in  possession  of  the 
carnal  mind,  which  is  "enmity  against  God,"  as  the  apostle 
plainly  declares.  You  are  not  born  again,  and  our  Saviour 
explicitly  says,  "ye  must  be  born  again."  You  have  none  of 
the  mind  that  was  in  Christ,  and  consequently  are  none  of  his. 
The  heart  of  the  Christian  is  made  anew.  He  constantly 
strives  to  "grow  in  grace,"  and  to  be  nearer  and  more  like 
his  blessad  Lord  and  Master. 

And  again — examine  your  heart  and  motives,  and  see  if 
you  are  not  impelled  more  in  your  course  of  life  by  temporal 
considerations,  than  by  any  desire  to  please  God  and  glorify 
his  name.  Now  be  candid  and  honest  with  yourself  in  this 
examination.  I  wish  to  probe  down  to  the  bottom  of  your 
heart,  and  if  possible  lay  open  its  blackness,  corruption  and 
deceit  to  you,  that  you  may  see  what  sort  of  a  creature  you 
really  are.  Is  it  really  through  respect  to  the  Divine  require- 
ments that  causes'  your  morality  and  prevents  your  going  to 
greater  lengths  in  sin  ?  or  is  it  not  rather  through  respect  for 
yourself?  You  know  that  your  reputation  is  at  stake,  and 
that  the  vile  wretch  who  is  guilty  of  the  abominations  men- 
tioned above  loses  the  respect  of  the  good  and  the  wise,  and 
is  thrown  a  miserable  outcast  from  society.     You  could  not 


The  Contrast  5 

succeed  in  your  plans,  as  well ;  your  affairs  would  not  prosper 
so  well;  and-  you  would  in  all  probability  become  poor  and 
troubles  would  increase.  I  am  inclined  to  the  belief  that  the 
glory  of  God  is  very  little  consulted  by  the  moralist  who  ad- 
heres so  steadfastly  to  his  good  works,  and  pleads  them  as 
being  a  sufficient,  ground  to  expect  the  ultimate  favor  of  God 
and  a  homo  in  Heaven. 

The  Christian's  first  and  highest  aim  is  to  glorify  God.  He 
labors  for  the  advancement  of  His  kingdom  in  the  earth,  and- 
u  strives  to  let  his  light  so  shine  before  men,  that  they,  seeing 
his  good  works,  may  glorify  his  Father  in  Heaven."  If  in  an 
evil  hour  he  listens  for  a  moment  to  the  voice  of  the  tempter 
and  does  something  which  may  bring  reproach  upon  the  cause 
of  Christ,  he  is  filled  with  "shame  and  remorse  as  soon  as  he 
reflects  upon  what  he  has  done — not  so  much  through  fear  of 
punishment  as  the  knowledge  of  having  displeased  God. 

When  the  moralist  commits  some  sin  which  may  alike  dis- 
honor God  and  himself,  he  is  concerned,  not  because  he  has 
■offended  God,  but  because  he  has  lowered  himself  in  the  esti- 
mation of  other  men,  whose  good  opinion  he  wished  to  main- 
tain. It  cannot  be  otherwise.  "The  heart  of  man  is  deceit- 
ful above  all  things,  and  desperately  wicked ;"  and  no  man 
can  know  it  until  the  reflection  of  the  light  of  Divine  grace 
shines  in  upon  it  and  reveals  it  to  him  in  its  deceit  and  wick- 
edness. The  Christian  is  afraid  to  trust  that  wicked  and  de- 
ceitful heart  of  his,  and  ever  seeks  the  guidance  of  God's 
Spirit. 

The  moralist  glories  in  his  own  strength, "and  thinks  he  is 
able  within  himself  to  resist  temptation,  and  consequently 
seeks  no  help  from  God,  nor  acknowledges  his  dependence  on 
Him.  He  does  not  believe  that  he  has  a  wicked  and  deceitful 
heart,  the  declarations  of  Divine  truth  to  the  contrary,  not- 
withstanding.    When   told  of  it,  he   denies  it,  and   immedi- 


6  The  Contrail, 

ately  begins  to  recount  his  many-  virtues.  "  I  am  not  as 
other  men  are — unjust,  extortioners,"  &c,  but  render  to 
every  man  his  dues,  give  of  my  means  to  relieve  the  dis- 
tressed, and  contribute  liberally  to  the  support  of  the  gospel, 
&c.  Blinded  by  sin,  he  thinks  there  is  great. virtue  in  these 
things,  which  " are  but  filthy  rags."  What  infatuation! 
what  madness,  to  trust  in  that  which  has  no  merit,  and  which 
cannot  give  us  the  least  favor  in  the  sight  of  (3-od  1%  "  0  that 
men  were  wise ;  that  they  understood  this ;  that  they  would 
consider  their  latter  end  !"  •  ■ 

The  Christian  enjoys  peace  of  mind.  Pie  is  not  haunted 
by  the  fear  of  death,  but  rather  feels  that  "  to  die  is  gain." 
He  looks  forward  to  death  as  a  relief  from  the  many  troubles 
and  anxieties  which  he  endures  here,  and  anticipates  a  glorious 
entrance  into  the  city  of  the  "new  Jerusalem  ana*  an  eternity 
of  bliss. 

The  sinner  knows  not  peace.  He  is  constantly  harassed 
with  the  fear  of  death.  In  his  most  joyful  and  pleasant 
hours,  the  thought  of  the.  grim  monster  arises  like  some 
ghastly  spectre,  and  fills  his  mind  with  fearful  forebodings. 
He  does  not  think  of  Heaven  as  his  home.  He  knows  that 
he  can  never  enter  there  in  his  sins,  and  he  loves  them  too 
well  to  give  them  up.  He  feels  that  he  has  no  right  to  expect 
any  thing  but  the  displeasure  of  God,  and  consequently  pun- 
ishment for  his  waywardness  and  sin.  Such  thoughts  as  these 
deprive  the  soul  of  ease,  and  fill  the  breast  with  bitter  stings. 
But  perhaps  the  most  striking  contrast  is  shown  on  the  death- 
bed. There  is  no  dissembling  there.  Every  one  feels  then 
that  death  and  the  judgment  are  stern  realities,  and  the  Chris- 
tian is  prepared  to  meet  them.     It  has  been  said  that 

"The  chamber  where  the  good  man  meets  his  fate 
Is  privileged  beyond  the  common  walks  of  life." 


Hhe  Contrast.  7 

And  how  true  it  is !  Did  you  ever  see  a  Christian  die?  Did 
you  notice  the  heavenly  gleam  on  his  countenance?  And 
even  when  the  heart  had  ceased  its  pulsations,  and  the  tongue 
was  motionless,  and  the  film  of  death  had  forever  closed  over 
the  eye,  and  the  hands  lay  still,  and  the  limbs  moved  not,  and 
a  still,  awful  silence  reigned  around — the  silence  of  the  death- 
chamber — did  you  notice  that  au  almost  angelic  smile  lingered 
over  the  marble  features,  as  if  the  cold  and  lifeless  clay  was 
rejoicing  with  the  freed  spirit  in  the  paradise  of  God? 

One  evening  last  winter  I  was  asked  to  go  into  one  of  the 
wards  in  Chimborazo  hospital,  where  I  have  been  laboring  for 
several  months,  to  see  some  young  men  who  desired  Christian 
counsel  and  prayers.  In  the  ward  there  were  several  wounded 
and  several  sick  soldiers,  whom  I  had  visited  before,  and  it 
was  some  of  these  who  wanted  to  see  me  now.  As  soon  as  I 
entered  the  ward,  I  was  attracted  by  the  -most  lamentable 
cries,  proceeding  from  a  young  man  suffering  from  gangrene, 
the  result  of  a  wound  in  his  foot.  "  O  my  mother,  my  dear 
mother,  my  dear  sister,  if  I  could  only  see  you  again  !"  and 
such  exclamations  as  these  were  made  by  him  in  the  most 
touching  manner,  denoting  the  greatest  anxiety.  I  immedi- 
ately went  to  his  side  and  spoke  to  hinj  as  kindly  and  sooth- 
ingly as  possible,  and  succeeded  in -getting  his  mind  partially 
composed,  when  he  readily  entered  into  conversation  with  me. 
Upon  asking  him  a  few  questions,  I  found  that  he  did  not  ex- 
pect to  recover;  and  "0!"  said  he,  "I  would  so  love  to  see 
my  dear  mother  and  sister  before  I  die!"  ".Yes,"  I  replied;' 
"but  knowing  that  it  is  impossible  under  the  circumstances, 
you  ought  not  to  think  about  it  so  much,  and  try  to  be  as 
calm  and  composed  as  possible,  as  the.  excitement  makes  you 
worse.'*  "It  is  but  human  nature,  sir,"  said  he,  "and  I  can- 
not help  it."  Pretty  soon  I  introduced  the  subject  of  reli- 
gion, and  asked  him  how  he  felt  on  that  subject.     "  My  mind 


8  The  Contrast. 

is  quiet  on  that  subject,"  he  answered,  "and  I  am  not  afraid 
to  die."  After  talking  further  With  him,  and  finding  that  his 
faith  was  well  founded,  he  being  so  ill  I  thought  it  best  at 
once  to  obtain  from  him  his  father's  address.  This  done,  I 
asked  him  if  he  had  any  message  to  send  to  his  parents  and. 
sisters.  "Yes  sir/'  said  he;  "tell  them  that  my  last  mo- 
ments were  spent  in  perfect  peace."  I  visited  him  frequently 
after  this,  and  always" found  him  in  the  enjoyment  of  perfect 
peace.  Not  a  fear  or  shadow  of  doubt  of  his  acceptance  with 
the  Beloved  ever  seemed  to  cross  his  mind.  Sometimes  I 
would  ask  him,  ".Have  you  no  fears  of  death?"  when  his  in. 
variable  reply  was,  "None  at  all,  none  at  all."  Thus  brightly 
burned  his  lamp  to  the  last,  reflecting  the  very  light  and  glory 
'of  a  future  blissful  immortality,  and  impressing  us  all  forcibly 
with  the  beauties  of  that  religion  that  has  such  comfort  in  it 
for  its  dying  votaries. 

This  is  but  a  feeble  picture  of  the  dying  Christian.  There 
is  a  sublimity  not  unmixed- with  awe  investing  such  a  scene, 
which  is- beyond  the  power  of  words  to  describe.  But  con- 
trast this  picture  with  the  following,  and  tell  me  which  of  the 
young  men  had  shown  the  greatest  wisdom  : 

In  the  parlor  of  the  magnificent  liotel  at  the  White  Sul- 
phur Springs,  Virginia,  used  at  the  time  of  which  I  speak  as 
a  hospital  for  the  armies  of  Western  Virginia,  lay  a  young 
man,  pale,  emaciated,  feeble,  suffering  from  the  ravages  of 
typhoid  fever,  and  fast  sinking  into  the  cold  embrace  of  death, 
without  a  hope  to  cheer  him  through  the  thick  gloom  that 
wrapped  him,  and  was  fast  hiding  this  world  forever  from  his 
sight'.  As  thoughts  of  eternity  came  into  his  mind,  and 
knowing  that  be  must  soon  enter  upon  its  dread  reality,  he 
was  deeply  anxious  for  his  safety,  and  requested  that  I*should 
come  to  see  him.  Upon  reaching  his  bed-side,  he  said,  "I 
have   sent  for  you  to  see  if  you  could  give  me. any  instrac- 


The  Contrast.  9 

tion  in  the  way  to  be  saved.  I  have  but  a  few  hours  longer  to 
live,  and  I  want  to  goto  Heaven."  He  tolcl  me  that  lie  had 
been  thinking  of  preparation  for  death  for  some  time  past,  but 
had  not  been  able  to  find  peace,  having  had  no  instruction, 
and  not  understanding  fully  the  plan  of  salvation.  I  endea- 
vored to  point  him  to  the  "  Lamb  of  God,  that  taketh  away 
the  sin  of  the  world/'  gave  him  all  the  instruction  I  could, 
and  commended  him  to  God  in  prayer.  He  was  deeply  ear- 
nest, and  did  not  want  me  to  leave  him;  but  my  business 
prevented  my  remaining  constantly  with  him,  so  I  visited  him 
at  short  intervals  during  the  afternoon  and  evening,  giving 
him  all  the  instruction  and  encouragement  in  my  power,  and 
prayed  with  him  several  times.  At  my  last  visit,  about  nine 
o'clock  at  night,  I  saw  that  he  was  rapidly  sinking,  and  I 
asked  his  father's  post-office,  and  also  if  he  had  any  message 
to  send  home.  "  I  would  like,"  said  he,  u  if  I  knew  that  I 
could  be  saved,  for  you  to  tell  them  to  meet- me  in  Heaven. 
My  mother  and  grandmother  and  some  little  brothers  and  sis- 
ters have  gone  before,  and  I  want  to  meet  them  there;"  and 
sometimes  he  would  ask,  "  Do  you  think  it  is  too  late?"  In 
a  few  hours  his  spirit  was  in  the  presence  of  his  God. 

What  a  difference  in  these  two  deaths !  Thi*  young  man 
may  have  found  peace  in  his  last  moments,  and  I  sincerely 
hope  did;  but  to  |ay  the  least,  there  is  much  uncertainty  in 
such  a  death. 

What  a  difference  in  the  messages  sent, home  !  One  so  full 
of  comfort  and  strong  confidence — the  other  filled  with  doubt 
and  uncertainty.  The  one  was  the  language  of  the  dying 
Christian — the  other  of  one  who  had  devoted  his  life  to  the 
pleasures  of  earth.  While  the  one  had*  been  in  health  striv- 
ing "  to  enter  in  at  the  strait  gate,"  the  other  labored  only 
"for  the  meat'that  perisheth."  -Sinner,  which  proved  in  the 
end  the-wisest  course?     Let  your  own  heart  answer. 

• 


10  The  Contrast. 

Ah,  my  friend,  the  death-bed  of  the  Christian  presents  a 
powerful  contrast  when  compared  with  that  of  the  sinner.  I 
have  seen  the  sinner  raviDg  and  dying,  filled  with  despair, 
without  the  least  shadow  of  hope;  but  I  preferred  to  give  you 
the  picture  of  the  death  of  the  sinner  in  the  most  favorable 
light  possible.  The  Christian  "  leans  his  head  on  Jesus' 
breast,  ancf  breathes  life  out  sweetly  there;''  and  wo,  all  ex- 
claim :  v 

How  blest  the  righteous  when  he  dies! 

When  sinks  a  weary  soul  to  rest, 
How  mildly  beam  the  closing  eyes ! 

How  gently  heaves  th'  expiring  breast ! 

So  fades  the  summer  cloud  away  ; 

So  sinks  the  gale  when  storms  are  o'er; 

So  gently  shuts  the  eye  of  day  ; 
So  dies  a  wave  along  the  shore. 
While 

Scenes  of  horror  and  of  dread- 
Await  the  sinner's  dying  bed; 

Death's  terrors  all  appear  in  sight, 

-     Presages  of  eternal  night. 

His  sins  in  dreadful  order  rise, 

And  fill  his  soul  with  sad  surprise  ;  • 

Mount  Sinai's  thunders  stun  his  ears, 
And  not  one  ray  of  hope  appears. 

Tormenting  pangs  distract  his  breast; 

Where'er  he  turns  he  finds  no  rest;' 
Death  strikes  the  blow — he  groans  and  cries — 

And  in  despair  and  horror  dies. 

But  the  contrast  does  not  stop  here— it  reaches  beyond  the 
grave.  We  may  not  lift  the  vail  that  hides  futurity  from  our 
eyes,  and  see  the  full  bliss  of  the  beatified  saints;  or  upon 
the  other  hand  gaze  upon  the  writhings  of  those  miserable 
lost  sinners  that  people  the  regions  of  endless  wo — nor  are  we 


The  Contrast.  11 

able  to  conceive' the  bliss,  the  glory,  the  felicity  that  the  saints 
in  light  enjoy  in  "  our  Father's  house;"  and  it  is  equally  im- 
possible for  us  to  imagine  all  the  horrors  that  seize  upon  the 
guilty  soul  when  it  has  received  the  sentence  of  eternal  ban- 
ishment from  the  presence  of  God — yet  revelation  teaches  us 
enough  for  us  to  know,  in  order  to  make  Heaven  more  desira- 
ble than  all  else  besides,  and  to  cause  us  to  try  to  shun  hell. 

The^ase  of  the  rich  man  and. Lazarus  is  in  itself  sufficient 
to  show  us  something  of  the  "  wide  extremes  'twixt  heaven 
and  Jiell."  Widely  different  in  their  manner  of  life,  in  death 
and  even  in  burial,  they  still  remain  separated  in  eternity. 
"Lazarus  died  and  was  carried  by  angels  into  Abraham's 
bosom,"  there-to  "banquet  foucver  on  celestial  bread."  The 
rich  man  also  died,  and  alas !  in  hell  he  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and 
seeing  Abraham  afar  off  with  Lazarus  in  his  bosom,  he  cried 
and  said,  "Father  Abraham,  have  mercy  on  me,  and  send 
Lazarus,  that  he  may  dip  the  tip  of  his  finger  in  water,  and 
cool  my  tongue;  for  I  am  tormented  in  this  flame."  What  a 
difference  in  their  conditions  I  A  short  time  ago,  a  rich  man 
"faring  sumptuously  every  day,"  now.  too  poor  to  L.uy  a  drop 
of  water.  A  short  time  ago  he  probably  would  havo  dis- 
dained to  speak  to  the  beggar  at  his  gate,  now  begging  a 
favor  from  him,  and  apparently  how  small  a  favor!  Who  of 
us  would  not  give  even  a  cup  of  water  to  one  in  distress? 
But  this  favor  cannot  be  granted.  He  must  suffer  in  the  hor- 
rid flames,  and  Lazarus  no  longer  a  beggar,  but  rich  in  eter- 
nal glory.  What  a  change,  too,  for  him  !  how  glorious  !  how 
sublime ! 

And  this  is  not  all — rifc  is  an  eternal  contrast.  The  happi- 
ness of  Lazarus  mu6t  increase  to  all  eternity,  and  the  misery 
of  poor  Dives  will  not  decrease  while  eternal  ages  roll  on. 
AUs  for  any  one  who  chooses  this  w^rld  for  bis  portion  azrd 
rfcj'&cte  tne  MVe&d  gofepel  1 


12  The   Contrast. 

Now,  dear  reader,  you  have  looked  upon  the  two  pictures, 
but  poorly  portrayed — for  the  half  has  not  been  told  you — 
and  it  only  remains  for  you  to  decide  which  you  will  choose 
as  your  ground  of  acfion.  •  You  must  figure  in  one  or  the 
other.  You  must  live  the  life  of  the  Christian,  die  the  death 
of  the  Christian,  and  enjoy  the  heaven  of  -the  Christian;  Or 
else  you  must  live  the  life  of  the  sinner,  die  the  death  of  the 
sinner,  and  endure  the  hell  of  the  sinner !  Choose  between 
the  two.  You  ha've  life  and  death  before  you.  "  Choose  ye 
this  day  whom  you  will  serve." 

In-what  confusion  earth  appears- — 
.     God's  dearest  children  bathed  in  tears! 
While  they  who  heaven  itself  deride 
Riot  in  luxury  and  pride. 

But  patient  let  my  soul  attend, 
And,  ere  1  censure,  view  the  end: 
That  end  how  different t — who  can  tell 
The  wide  extremes  of  heaven  and  hell  ? 

See  the  red  flames  around  him  twine 
Who  did  iu  gold  and  purple  shine ; 
Nor  can  his  tongue  one  drop  obtain 
T  allay  the  scorching  of  his  pain. 

While  round  the  saint,  so  poor  below,        # 
Full  rivers  of  salvation  flow; 
On  Abrah'm's  breast  he  leans  his  head, 
And  banquets  on  celestial  bread. 

Jesus,  my  Saviour,  let  mo  share 
The  meanest  of  thy  servants'  fare: 

:  &t  last  &p£roach  to  'aate 
The  blessings  of  thy  marriage  feast. 

Soldiers'  Trait  Afsccistioc,  H.  B.  Churchj  9csth. 


Hollinger  Corp. 
PH8.5 


